


i wonder if you look both ways when you cross my mind

by Lihgtwood



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 11:16:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18234149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lihgtwood/pseuds/Lihgtwood
Summary: He and Ty are different now. Not that they don’t eat together, watch television together, read together, or do just about anything together anymore. It’s just, less so.AU where Kit doesn't leave, but stays and grows up alongside Ty, pining.





	i wonder if you look both ways when you cross my mind

**Author's Note:**

> title from see you again by tyler, the creator ft. kali uchis
> 
> also the formatting's completely messed up. all the italicized stuff became unitalicized when i uploaded onto ao3 so there !

Ty stands at the shore, bare toes tickled by sand. He’s a portrait of blues and blacks, swathed in the heavy colours of dusk. There’s no one at the beach at six in the morning, crack of dawn. It’s just the two of them. He’s nothing but a dark figure, soft at the edges, swaying along with the sea breeze as if it’s a tune whose rhythm he follows.

Ty’s face is turned towards the dark dawn sky, eyes closed. Kit’s so near he can count every eyelash.

As he opens his mouth to speak, Kit searches for the right words, the ones that he didn’t have in the first place.

**

The Institute hasn't changed since the war. The building still hums of silence and solitude, the kind of dignity only a holy place can replicate. Kit still remembers the first time he stepped foot in here and felt his skin crawl with the sensation of being so thoroughly out of place. It’d been jarring. He’d seen the dark, whorls imprinted on muscled shoulders, the dour dressing habits (black seemed to be their favourite colour. Shadowhunters were edgy that way), the array of weapons and felt his stomach twist. 

These were the people he was meant to be running away from.

But now, he doesn't remember when he stops being a stranger, or even an enemy, and starts being part of the family, can’t pinpoint when the ease of companionship and family settled in. The exact moment when Dru starts sharing with him her favourite horror flicks, or when Emma and Julian wave him over to sit down with them, or when Tavvy curls an arm around his leg whenever he felt tired.

That’s the thing about Blackthorns. They easily absorb you into their clan, make you feel like one of theirs. It feels a bit surprising to be treated with such ready affection. Sometimes he meets Cristina or Kieran’s eyes, and he knows they’re thinking the same thing.

The Institute hasn’t changed, but the people have. 

Emma catches Kit as he goes through the door, putting little effort into wiping the mud off his shoes. She looks fresh out of training. She’s wearing her gear and stray hairs stick to her forehead with sweat. A water bottle is lifted halfway to her mouth but she stops mid-motion to narrow her eyes at Kit.

He jumps. 

“Hey, hey,” she warns. “We are very big on hygiene in this house. If Jules finds prints leading up the stairs, he’s gonna be so mad.”

Over the years, she’s taken it upon herself to perform the role of the maternal figure. Kit supposes it’s appropriate, considering Julian’s role in the family.

Kit obliges, sighing. “To think I was planning to blame it on the cat.”

“Very funny,” she says, and then her eyes widen when she looks behind him. 

He can feel Candace shrink from behind him. Most people who meet Emma usually do that. She’s the Clave hero who killed a bunch of faeries, evil Shadowhunters and what not, the best Shadowhunter of their generation. To anyone who doesn't know her well, she’s fearsome and intimidating. She’s not as Kit knows her, which is as someone who eats all the marshmallows from the Lucky Charm box then lies poorly when asked about it.

“Who’s this?” Emma asks, suddenly excited.

Kit feels embarrassment well up in him, as if Emma’s an overenthusiastic mom prodding intrusively about her son’s girlfriend. Sometimes, it really does feel that way.

Candace edges out from behind Kit. “I’m Candace,” she says shyly.

“Oh!” Emma exclaims, her eyes lighting up. A smirk that Kit knows bears no good intentions spreads across her face. “Oh, how nice, Kit! It’s nice to know you’re making friends.”

“I’m leaving,” he announces, grabbing Candace’s hand and leading her up the stairs decidedly. 

Just as he shuts the door behind him, Emma’s voice calls: “Use protection!” Then loud snickering ensues.

Dropping down heavily onto his bed, he groans and wipes a hand down his face. Scratch that: Emma’s not his overenthusiastic mom. She’s more like a cool aunt, one who drinks wine constantly and enjoys chatting about sex.

“I can’t believe she’s the one who I have to hear this from. Really? Emma? I guess she and Julian are just really good friends, huh?”

Candace arches an eyebrow. 

“Well, she’s not wrong,” she says, fishing around the drawer in his bedside table and finding a packet of foil in the pile he’s stashed there. She places a hand up his shirt and traces the lines of his stomach. 

Kit sighs at the touch and pulls her down over him. 

**

After Candace, there’s Grace. After Grace, there’s Declan, then Sasha, then Matthew. And after that, it’s hard to keep track. As he’s grown up, he’s learned that it’s not difficult for him to catch someone’s attention. He supposes it’s the Herondale charm or whatever Jace said in his self-serving speech about his own bloodline. Sometimes he’ll catch someone smiling at him as he waits in line in a coffee shop, and sometimes he’ll be the one to initiate: sidling up to the person, showing them the good side of his face, and hitting them with a good pick up line. 

It always works.

It’s sometime in the middle of the night. He’s fresh from a party and crashed onto his bed when three knocks come on his door. He groans, head pounding. He doesn’t get up in hopes of the other person just going away, but the knocks come again, as sure and precise as they are the first time. They show no signs of letting up.

Kit stumbles out of bed, extricating himself from Sheryl as he shrugs on a pair of pants. He bats her away as she half-consciously reaches out to pull him back to bed. It’s been a month since they’ve, you know, had this arrangement. Well, she’s nice enough. She laughs a lot and smiles easily, and Kit thrives on the response for all his stupid jokes, so it seemed to make sense for them to get together.

It's the middle of the night. What could anyone possibly want from him?

A biting remark is just about to leave his mouth when he flings open the door, blinking blearily, to meet the cool, slate grey eyes of Ty Blackthorn.

**

He and Ty are different now. Not that they don’t eat together, watch television together, read together, or do just about anything together anymore. It’s just, less so. 

Over the course of the years, Ty’s desire for someone to accompany him has waned. 

For things he’d usually ask Kit to tag along with, Kit often finds him leaving on his own. In truth, it’s stung a bit. Kit misses being let in on all of Ty’s plans, the special loyalty and camaraderie shared between them. No longer are the days of Sherlock and Watson. Kit thinks Ty’s outgrown it.

He supposes they’re all growing up. They’re not hapless children anymore.

Though they still enjoy going down to the beach together, feel the sun and sea and sand. He and Ty will roll their pants sleeves up to their knees and wade in the ocean, grasping at each other in an effort to keep upright against the force of the tide. Kit thinks he’ll be one of those people who put on their dating profiles ‘likes: enjoys long walks along the beach’. 

The with Ty left unsaid, of course. 

In one of Kit’s more treasured memories, peals of laughter – their laughter – ring down the shore. Ty crouches with his feet buried in the sand, picking out seashells amongst bits of trash and seaweed. He holds them up to Kit, who perches at his side and listens as Ty explains to him in a calm, steady tone.

This belongs to a gastropod, a polyplacophoran, a cephalopod…

Kit remembers feeling a strong surge of fondness in his chest. Only Ty would know this. Only Ty would pay attention to everything, even the little bits of sea debris that people usually step on without a care, too tiny to be noticed. Ty’s eyes were very dark and lowered in concentration, and his usually pale face was washed in golden and red, in the light of the dying sun. Kit’s heart was full to bursting.

He wanted to reach over and place his hand over the curve of Ty’s cheek. He wanted to – to do so much more things, but he couldn’t. Ty wouldn’t let him, because Ty didn’t like him back.

I love you. 

Kit flushes with shame just thinking about it. Whenever he thinks about Ty that way, he cuts himself on this shard of memory. A reminder to himself.

**

Taken by surprise, Kit opens his mouth but no sound comes out. He’s not sure what to say to him, or why Ty’s come looking for him so late at night. Briefly, he thinks how they used to share a room, so all Ty had to do was walk over and shake Kit by his shoulder if he wanted to wake him up at night. A sharp pang of longing fills his chest, surprising him.

Ty looks as if he’s about to say something, but then peers in behind Kit to see the figure tangled in his sheets. Kit flushes. 

“Am I interrupting?” Ty asks, unselfconsciously. He’s not looking at Kit, which is something Kit’s used to, even relieved at. He doesn’t think he can meet Ty’s eyes.

Focus, Kit tells himself, but his valiant attempt at self-control proves useless.

At the tender age of seventeen, Ty is beautiful. Even in Kit’s alcohol-induced state, it’s something he can recognize and appreciate. Ty’s eyelashes are very long and his eyebrows very dark. He’s skinnier than the typical Shadowhunter, which makes him look almost fragile, but Kit knows there is muscle lying beneath the white cotton of his shirt. Back when they were fifteen, Kit already had an inkling of it. Livvy said once how Ty was going to be a heartbreaker when he grew up, but Kit never would have imagined, not – not anything like this. Kit tries to keep his eyes from straying to the elegant set of his shoulders, the shadowed dip of his collarbones, the perfect bow of his mouth…

Kit shakes his head, purging all thoughts from his mind.

“No!” He says quickly. “Not at all. Did you need anything?”

The girl in the bed groans. Heat rises to Kit’s cheeks immediately and he curses himself. He’s not usually so shy about things like this, but when it’s Ty, when he’s with him, he feels like he’s thirteen again. 

“I did not need anything,” Ty says, eyes still lowered. “Julian told me to tell you that we are invited to a wedding which will take place tomorrow. We need to be up early and dressed.”

“What? Who’s getting married?”

“Simon and Isabelle Lightwood,” Ty says. “It’s going to be a massive thing, apparently. I wouldn’t have woken you up at this time. It’s just that you came home really late and I wanted to make sure you were free.”

Kit nearly combusts. “Sorry about that.”

Ty shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Good night.”

The thought of Ty leaving so quickly shocks Kit. He’s hardly seen him today. It can’t be that their conversations have been reduced to minute-long mere formalities. Memories of the beach flicker in his mind. The briny scent of the ocean. Fingers interlocked with each other – 

“Wait, Ty –” Kit starts. Ty pauses, hands already drifting to the headphones slung around his neck. 

“How was your day?” he attempts and cringes inwardly. Stupid Kit. Why is he so inarticulate now, of all times? He can talk his way into the Shadow Market or for a free cup of coffee, but not carry a decent conversation apparently.

Ty pauses, as if in shock. Then he says, slowly, “It was fine. Dru showed me one of her horror movies.” 

“She’s the bravest of us all,” Kit tries, offering a smile.

“Not necessarily,” says Ty, matter-of-factly. His eyes flicker briefly to the bed and its occupant. His eyes are cool, grey slates. “Emma and Julian braved a hellscape. I think that deserves some recognition. What’s her name?”

“What?” 

“Your girlfriend. The girl in your bed.” Ty’s eyes dart from the bed to a spot on the carpet indicatively. It’s hard to tell with the lighting but Kit thinks he sees the faintest spot of pink bloom on Ty’s cheeks. 

“Oh.” Kit has suddenly lost any ability of speech. His mouth feels as though it’s nothing more than a hole in a meatsack. Actually, it is kind of crazy. Humans are just walking bags of meat. He shoves that thought in the back of his head for later. “She’s not – she’s not my girlfriend.”

The lie escapes his mouth without warning and sits there, in between the two of them, like a bomb waiting to detonate. Stupid hole. Stupider meatsack. Kit’s taken aback at himself, surprised at the strong urge to not let Ty think that Sheryl’s his girlfriend.

Confusion fills Ty’s face. 

“She’s just someone I met – uh, at the party. Um – yeah, it’s just a one time thing,” Kit babbles, having regressed to the linguistic ability of a three year old. Actually, he thinks even three year olds have a higher level of eloquence. He’s seen one point at an apple and say ‘apple’. Kit can’t talk about his, well, girlfriend without saying she’s not.

Ty’s eyebrows shoot up. 

“But it’s not the first time she’s been here,” Ty notes. “She’s wearing the same shoes as she did the last time.”

Internally, Kit’s mind implodes. Like, massive earthquake kinda style, the kind that can fetch a decent number on the Richter scale. How would Ty ever know that? Shoes? That’s the thing that gives him away?

Then he realizes he shouldn’t be so surprised. Ty’s always made a point about everything. If only the LAPD had the dogged attention to detail that Ty’s always had for his surroundings. There’d be no crime in the city, every criminal incriminated by the puff of their breath, the drop of their sweat, the whorl of their knuckles. 

“It’s complicated,” Kit amends. A twinge of loathing fills his chest at the thought of lying to Ty. Not – exactly lying. He’s been meaning to tell Sheryl.

Ty makes a noise of assent. “I thought you’d be bringing her to the wedding tomorrow, as your date.”

“Nah,” Kit says, running a hand through his hair. Then asks, tentatively, “Are you taking anyone?”

Ty shakes his head. 

“No one? Not at all?” 

“Such things do not interest me,” Ty says, quite decidedly. 

“Teens rubbing up each other? Bits and bobs coming together, no?” Kit grins.

Ty makes a face. “Julian described it way better than you.”

“Excuse me,” Kit says in mock affront. “I come from a line of Shadowhunter poets. They’re very talented.”

“Why do I doubt you?” Ty wonders aloud. 

And they’re back, easy banter and quick laughter, if only for a flicker of a second. It passes over them like a mist, and Kit yearns to chase it, track it down to its source and hold on to it forever. He doesn’t want to let this moment go, but it does, slipping away from his fingers.

They lapse into silence. Neither of them have anything more to say.

“Good night,” Ty says, offering him a small, lopsided smile. Something bursts in Kit’s chest. He doesn’t want to place it, not just yet.

Kit nods, returning the smile. “’Night.”

Kit closes the door, waiting to hear the sound of retreating footsteps before padding back to his bed, where he finds Sheryl staring at the ceiling silently, eyes wide open.

“Am I not your girlfriend?” she asks quietly.

In the shitty light, hurt is just dimly visible on her face. 

“You’re such an asshole, Kit,” she says. Her hair spills out across the pillow abundantly. They both reek of cheap liquor. She doesn’t look at him. “Is this your way of breaking up with me? Through a conversation I’m not meant to hear?”

“Isn’t it time we’ve had a clear chat about this?” Kit asks, the lightness from his earlier conversation with Ty dissipating out of him like air from a balloon. Guilt winds itself into a tight coil in his stomach. “We never really confirmed what we are.”

“I thought it was clear,” she says tonelessly. 

Kit blows out a breath. Before he can say anything, she interrupts.

“We’re done. I’m leaving in the morning. Don’t ever call me again,” she declares. Kit settles down on the floor at the foot of his bed, legs curled to himself. An apology rests on his tongue but it doesn’t seem like it will help anything. “But if you really like him, you should tell him.”

His heart seizes. “What?”

“Don’t give me that, you’re literally so obvious. You’ve never sounded like that when you’re with me.” A sigh. “He sounds like a better boyfriend than you. Unlike you, he actually notices when I’m wearing Jimmy Choos.”

Kit supposes that’s fair.

**

Early morning finds them assembled at the Institute’s lobby, suitcases parked at their sides. Kit wakes up from his fetal position on the floor with a wretched hangover and an empty bed. He sighs. He’ll make it up to her once he came back from the wedding. 

Emma comes down first, trailing behind her a gigantic suitcase bursting at the seams. The suitcase looks as though its going through its own kind of suffering. Kit thinks it might spring open at the lightest touch.

“Poor suitcase,” Kit says.

“I have a lot of things, most of which are important,” she says, defensively. She places her hands on her lips as she casts a glance from the landing to the bottom of the flight of stairs. 

“RIP suitcase: ‘She had a lot of things, most of which were important’.”

“Shut up, Kit.” She places a foot on the flank of the suitcase and gives it a kick. Kit watches in fascination as it tumbles down the flight of stairs with a clatter, before sliding to a stop at his feet. The buckles on the luggage seem to hold on to each for dear life. 

“Remind me never to make you angry.”

Emma flips her hair girlishly over her shoulder. “If you really knew me, you wouldn’t need a reminder.”

Dru comes down next, followed by Tavvy and Julian. None of their suitcases look as monstrous as Emma’s. Julian goes down the stairs carrying a suitcase in each hand. One mini one for Tavvy, and one normal sized one for himself. 

Now, Ty is the only one who hasn’t come down yet.

Julian casts Kit a look, asking, where’s Ty? 

It’s a familiar and worn look, one that he’s been the constant recipient of these past few years. They still think Kit and Ty are as close as ever, inseparable, stuck in their little circle of exclusivity. At first, it used to make him feel a sense of pride at being acknowledged, but now, when he doesn’t have the answer to that question, frustration fills him. 

“I’ll get him,” Kit says, running up the stairs to Ty’s room.

There’s a lot of noise coming from Ty’s room. Kit can hear things being shifted around and harried footsteps. 

Kit knocks. “Ty?”

No answer. The rummaging continues.

“Can I come in?” Still no answer. “I’m coming in,” Kit announces, and pushes open the door hesitantly. Over the years he’s come to learn that Ty doesn’t like surprises.

Ty’s entire room is upended. His drawers are turned inside out and his bed is in entire disarrangement. It’s a shocking sight. Ty’s room is usually neat and immaculate, everything folded and pressed and cleared away. He even buys little organizational trays to put his things in. Ty stands with his feet around a pile of clothes on the floor, features creased in distress. His hand clenches, unclenches, clenches.

“What’s going on?”

Ty ransacks a drawer. He pulls out pens, pencils, a stapler.

“I can’t find my stimming toy,” he says, annoyance tinges his voice. Two spots of red burn at his cheekbones. 

“Which one?”

“The blocks. The ones that can stack on each other. I don’t know how it’s gone.”

Kit wants to say, it’s okay, I’ll help you find it. He wants to do something to smooth over the crease in between his brows, but in the way of literal speech, that probably wasn’t the best thing to say. What does it’s okay mean to Ty? Or his help? It wouldn’t give Ty the same kind of reassurance it might give to someone else.

Kit looks through the room, carefully turning over items so as to not make an even greater mess out of the room. He chances upon Livvy’s necklace, hanging from a lamp, several Sherlock Holmes books (so he hasn’t grown out of them), and Julian’s painting of the Blackthorn family. Ty is busy sifting through piles of clothes he’s thrown out, searching the pockets.

Kit ducks to look beneath the bed and a flash of colour catches his eye.

“Aha!” Kit exclaims excitedly, glad to be the one who finds it. It’s nestled in a corner. “I found it.”

He crawls beneath the bed to snag the toy and emerges dusty and cobwebbed and coughing slightly. He holds up the toy like a medal, grinning. “Have I told you I am an excellent searcher as well?”

Relief floods Ty’s face. A smile breaks out across his lips, growing wider and sweeter. Ty takes the toy from Kit and pulls cobwebs out from his hair. Warm fingers skim Kit’s cheek as he pulls back, and all of Kit’s attention hones in on that one point of contact, like a heat-seeking missile. 

He freezes instinctively, bones grinding to a mind-numbing, earth-shattering halt the second he feels those delicate fingers whisk across his cheek like wind. For a second, Kit is unsure what Ty is going to do. He’s about to say something when Ty wraps his arm around Kit. Kit goes on autopilot mode, his hands coming up to wrap around Ty too. His palm rests soundly over the small of Ty’s back. 

“Thanks Kit,” Ty murmurs. His fingers grip Kit’s shoulders. The words sound so sweet on his tongue. Kit loses himself for a complete and utter moment. It’s strange how Ty can knock him out of his own body like a ball against a bat. 

“No problem,” he croaks out.

**

They portal into Idris, where the wedding is to be held. Isabelle Lightwood’s wedding is an autumnal shebang, a great big thing that spans over three days. Less can be credited to her husband for this, Kit thinks. Simon Lewis props up his glasses and smiles mild-manneredly, while Isabelle’s gaze roams the crowd like a lioness scanning for prey to make sure that everyone has turned up.

The Blackthorns take up an entire table for themselves. While waiting for the service to start, Dru and Tavvy attack the buffet. Emma and Julian go off somewhere, probably planning for old age and retirement already. And Ty is nowhere to be found, so he’s alone. Kit shoves his hands into his pocket wanders around, catching the gazes of several people his age. A fair-haired boy exchanges a smirk with him. A dark-eyed girl blushes when he smiles at her.

The ballroom is decorated in tones of orange and mauve, tapestry and gilded prints draped over the walls. Kit supposes if he has a better eye for this sort of thing, he’ll appreciate it more. There’s an ice sculpture of the bride and groom in the center of the room. Kit goes up to it and puts a finger to it, entertaining one of his stupid whims. Coldness sears his finger.

“I came here to prod at Isabelle Lightwood’s dress too,” a voice says.

Kit looks up. It’s the fair-haired boy from earlier on.

Kit flashes him his most winsome smile. “Just testing the structural integrity of the sculpture. You can never be too sure with these things.”

“Ah. Very responsible.” A sharp smile flashes across his face.

The boy is charming. The bend of his brow matches the strong bridge of his nose, and his shoulders are broad and set with assurance. It gives him an air of imperiousness, one that stirs something in the pit of Kit’s stomach. 

Excitement sparks in his chest. What did Jace say?

Herondales never can resist a challenge.

“I’m Kit.”

“Charles. Starkweather. And don’t even get on about faerie spoils, I’ve gotten enough jokes about that for a lifetime. I know, one of my great-great grandfathers was an utter twat.”

“I wasn’t,” Kit says, tilting his chin up, almost unconsciously. He meets Charles’s eyes squarely. “I was thinking you look great. How have you been missing from me all this time?”

He can see the effect that his words have, tugging at Charles like honey and spun silk. He always feels as though he’s slipping into a suit, another persona whenever he does this, someone distinctly not him. Yet at the same time, he can pull out this person at the drop of a hat if he wanted to, and he does most of the time, because it's what gets him what he wants. 

Charles lets out a sharp burst of laughter, eyebrows lifting. His smile gets sharper.

“You’re something,” he says.

A minute later Kit is pressed against the door of a cloakroom, Charles chasing kisses feverishly up the column of his throat. 

When he returns, the service has started and Jace is in the middle of delivering a speech. Kit rushes in, hoping to achieve sufficient secrecy, but none of the people at the table notice as he slips into his chair soundlessly. Their bodies are all swiveled to look at Jace, who still manages to fetch an imposing figure in the room.

Everyone, except for Ty.

Kit can see Ty’s eyes drift to his rumpled collar and messy hair, shadows shifting behind those eyes. He freezes up, conscious of how Ty takes it all in. 

“Where were you? You’re late,” he whispers.

“I had to attend to something,” he says vaguely. 

“Someone?” Ty corrects archly.

Kit laughs awkwardly. “What’d I miss?” Kit says, in what he hopes to be a careful segue to a safe topic.

“Nothing,” Ty says. “Jace was just explaining the rules of the Scavenger hunt. We are supposed to find objects in pairs. The pair that gets the most objects wins a surprise.”

“Geez. I guess wedding obstacle courses are in this season.”

“I’ve never been to a wedding like this,” Ty agrees.

“I’ve never seen an ice sculpture either.”

“I bet if I blow on it hard enough, you won’t see it anymore.”

“Yeah. Here’s to celebrating Mr. and Mrs. Puddle, the best of the Shadowhunters.”

It’s a stupid joke, but they both try hard to stifle their laughter. It causes Dru to turn and stare at them weirdly.

“What’s up with you two?” 

“Nothing,” Kit says, looking at Ty to share a conspiratorial grin. Dru turns back, shaking her head and muttering something about a bunch of weirdos.

Kit palms a knife on the table, catching Ty’s eye. At this point, his body thrums with mischievous energy. 

Ty’s eyes widen with delight.

“No, Kit,” he warns.

Kit turns the butter knife over in his palm. “What? It’s nice crockery. You know, I think the Herondale dagger is overrated. It’s time for the butter knife now.”

“What could you possibly get from stealing a butter knife from Isabelle Lightwood’s wedding banquet?” he asks, clearly delighted to be playing the voice of reason to Kit’s madcap schemes.

“I could sell it online. She’s a celebrity. People would be willing to pay for it,” Kit counters.

Ty laughs. “Honestly…”

Kit relishes in it. It’s high and fluting, ringing as clearly as the toll of a bell. Kit wishes he can unspool it from him, pull ribbons and ribbons of golden laughter out from him just so he can see him like this: eyes shining, wide grin, body curved in on itself. He’s always gotten off the validation he receives from people’s laughter in response to his antics, but none like Ty’s. His laughter is hard earned and worth it.

He’d punch himself in the face over and over again just to hear it. 

“Guys,” Dru cuts in. “You’re missing it.”

Kit relents and listens to Jace explain all about the wedding, while trying to wipe the stupid grin from his face. 

 

**

Back at the house, they find there are not enough rooms for all for them.

“There are only three rooms,” Julian explains. “Emma and I will take one, Dru and Tavvy one, then you and Ty will take the last one.”

That’s how Kit ends up climbing into a four-poster bed with Ty after turning off the lights. Apparently he’s supposed to take this as an unfortunate coincidence and not divine intervention by some not-so benevolent forces of the universe. Forced to share a bed with his long-time crush and best friend? Sure, universe. Have at it.

Kit can see Ty where the moonlight filters in through the window. It illuminates the side of his face, turning his already pale skin luminescent. His dark eyes stand out starkly against the fair planes of his face, making them more intense. 

Kit finds his breath gone. Stolen. He can’t quite tear his eyes from Ty: lit in the moonlight, eyes closed, lips pursed together pinkly. Kit’s not a person of poetry – the most literature he can handle is the fun fact printed on the inside of a Snapple bottle cap – but he imagines that poets write about something like this. 

How beautiful, he thinks.

“Kit,” Ty murmurs, breaking his train of thought. Kit freezes, like a thief caught red-handed.

“Yeah?” 

“I feel a bit cold.”

Kit sits up, alert. His sordid musings disappear from his head. “Do you want me to turn the thermostat up?”

Ty shakes his head, eyes drawing open. “It’s already the highest setting. It’s quite an old fashioned thermostat. It only has high, medium, and low.”

“Do you want me to get more blankets? Or you could have my share. Bundle you up like a burrito.” 

“I don’t think that will help,” Ty says. “And you would be cold.”

Silence. Kit wracks his brains for solutions.

“Could you – come closer?” 

Kit blinks. His thoughts grind to a stop. “What?”

“Body heat,” Ty explains. Is that a hint of nervousness in his voice? Kit can’t tell. He can’t quite hear himself over the quickstep of his heart. “Julian used to do it for me when I was younger, I thought – well, it’s fine if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay,” Kit says quickly. 

After a moment’s hesitation, he slides himself closer until his body slots against Ty’s. Kit’s arm comes up to wrap around him. Black hair curling at the nape tickles the tip of Kit’s nose, and once again, he curses the universe.

It’s impossible to forget about Ty like this. Not when their bodies curve in together like two parentheses, not when his hand is fitted over the fantastic dip of Ty’s waist, not when he can lean in and inhale.

Kit’s eyes remain wide and open. Unblinking.

“Thanks,” Ty says. He shifts against Kit. 

Kit stifles the urge to say, cool cool cool cool cool.

The darkness makes it more bearable. While he can’t see Ty, the tightly winded coil of dread that has been sitting at the pit of his stomach ever since he started trying to forget about him loosens up. A minute passes, or two. Nothing detonates. Slowly, the tension in his limbs run out like water. It doesn’t feel like anything different than his usual exploits, Kit reasons in his head. A bed with two warm bodies. Skin on skin on skin. There isn’t anything new to this. Nothing he hasn’t done.

(Except there is.)

Imbued with a sudden urge, Kit leans in until his lips brush lightly against the back of Ty’s neck.

“You’re alright,” Kit says, smiling. 

It’s quiet for a while. Then, a hum of approval. 

“Your feet are so cold,” Kit complains when an icy line of toes brushes up against his shin.

“That’s why I need you, isn’t?” 

“You’re so cold,” Kit murmurs. “You feel like the ice sculpture at the wedding, but softer.”

Ty gives him a light kick.

“Warm me up, then.”

Ty speaks in calm, hushed tones, telling him all about what he missed that morning when he was gone. He tells him about how Clary, Alec and Magnus stood by the dais, and Alec looked like he was near tears. As his eyes are about to drift shut, Kit can hear quiet murmurs.

“Air. Breather. Corner. Remember.”

“Did you choose new words?” Kit asks sleepily. “It sounds different.”

There’s a pause. If it wasn’t so dark and Kit wasn’t so tired, he’d think it was embarrassment, but then it goes away and there’s Ty’s calm voice in quiet explanation, saying, “I changed them. I have new words every once in a while. It’s just what sounds nice at the moment.”

Kit hums. “I like it.”

He allows the steady rise and fall of Ty’s voice to lull him to sleep.

The next morning, he takes a long, cold shower. 

**

The wind whips Kit’s hair around his cheeks as he stands atop the roof, squinting against the sun. His eyes survey his surroundings: trees, ocean, roads, a palette of greens and blues made vibrant by glow of the afternoon sun. The air is crisp and clean like it can’t be back in Los Angeles. Kit breathes it in. Out of the corner of his eye, several pairs of people roam around the streets of Alicante with maps in their hands.

Next to him, Ty scrutinizes a map in his hands with a look of intense concentration on his face. His eyebrows furrow. Kit tracks the movement of his eyes as it moves across the map from left to right, half-shadowed by his long lashes. 

“Well, according to the map, it should be here,” Ty says. 

“Are we looking for moss? Or even dirt or bits of garbage?” Kit asks. “Because I’ve found it.”

He walks dangerously close to the edge, hands coming up for balance as if he’s a tightrope walker. It makes him think they’re fifteen again. Fifteen and standing on the roof, another roof in another place as the world faced its imminent death. Nothing seems to have changed, but when Kit looks over at Ty and feels himself wanting to catch Ty’s rosy bottom lip between his teeth, he knows that everything has.

A year ago, he would’ve scolded Ty for doing this. He remembers watching Ty pace up and down the fragile tiling, as light-footed as a cat, heedless of the work of gravity. Now he’s doing the same thing. 

“Probably something more along the lines of wedding ornament,” Ty replies steadily. “The clue is ‘up’, so try searching upwards.”

“Ten four, captain,” Kit drawls, pulling himself up the roof. He plunges his feet into ridges and holes, finding footholds he would never have been able to find three years ago. 

Kit clambers higher. The breeze is stronger here. His eyes burn with such startling clarity, he has to shield them against the wind. He drops his head down the chimney and looks in several nooks and crannies, but there’s no wedding ornament to be found. 

He steals a glance at Ty, who pivots around on the rooftop, looking from the map to the roof repeatedly. The heat gives him a sort of flush, staining his cheekbones a healthy red. He’s removed his usual grey hoodie so it no longer covers up his slenderness. The dark whorl of runes work their way up the length of his arms and neck, winding their way through dips and curves and divots. 

Kit wants to chase it with his mouth, like a path to follow. He remembers seeing it for the first time and knowing it as the markings of a righteous angelic militia, imperious and unbending, but on Ty, it’s a different creature. It’s chiaroscuro, carving him out into something beautiful and dark. Kit banishes the thought. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. In its place, another memory rises to mind, never too far out of reach.

I love you, Ty. I love you.

The swell of hurt in his chest washes away the warmth. Mostly.

The sound of the rooftop door swings open, hinges squealing with rust. A girl clambers out, soft eyes and dark hair, with a map in her hand. She doesn’t see Kit, who’s out of her line of vision. Only Ty.

A sick feeling hits him in the gut when he sees the look on her face. 

It’s complete enamour. Love. Attraction. He can see how her eyes widen and her mouth falls open in quiet surprise as she admires Ty, her eyes roving over him and his face and his body – 

Ty stares right back at her, none the wiser. His eyes are wide and inscrutable. He turns them away quickly.

“Oh, hello!” 

She approaches Ty, hesitantly. She’s beaming, a megawatt smile plastered across her face. Kit knows that smile – it’s the one he used on Charles. They don’t look exactly alike, his is a bit sharper, not as wholehearted, but the intention behind it is definitely clear to him, if not to Ty.

Ty stares at her in puzzlement, waiting for her to continue.

“You’re looking for the item aren’t you? I also found my way to this roof.”

Ty stares. She’s pretty and nice. Ty’s probably fallen in love with her. 

The girl continues, doggedly. “Have you found it?”

Ty shakes his head. “No.”

Her face lights up even more. “Do you want to look for it together? My partner Marla sprained her ankle so it’s just me. You can have the item if we find it. I’m just – in it for the fun.”

Ty shrugs. “Sure.” A dark feeling stirs in Kit’s chest. “More heads are better.”

She walks up closer to Ty, so they’re standing inches away from each other. It feels as though something ugly is clawing its way out of Kit’s chest, growing to become something full-fledged. It roils in his stomach. For a brief second, Kit can’t catch his breath. His hands are balled against his thighs.

He knows Ty is the kind of person to attract stares, but it’s the first time that he’s seen someone approach him. Kit supposes it’s only because Ty’s never really been the one to go to parties and clubs. He mostly spends his time in the Institute or the beach or other familiar places. 

She’s still grinning at him and trying to catch his gaze. “I’m Katie. Nice to meet you.” She pauses. “Has anyone ever told you you’re really hot?”

Something snaps in Kit. He jumps down from the chimney and stalks over to the two of them, an amiable smile plastered tightly across his face. 

“Hey, Ty, who’s this?” He asks pleasantly, hands shoved into his pockets so they won’t see how tightly he clenches them.

“I’m Katie,” Katie says, smiling. She graces Kit with the same up and down she gave Ty and a shadow of curiosity blooms on her face. She looks back at Ty.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she says. Her voice sounds as though it’s compacted to be sweet and cloying. It grates on Kit’s ears.

Ty can’t like her. She’s a – she’s a fraud, obviously. 

Kit wants to say, you are, but Ty says, “Of course not. Kit and I have been searching for the clue but we’ve found nothing so far. Anything up there?” He asks Kit.

“Well, if we’re looking for birdshit and dirt -- and like, a whole crapton -- I think we’ve won.” Kit forces out laughter.

Ty looks at him strangely.

“I’m sure if we search around enough we’ll find it,” Katie says. There’s a perpetual smile on her face. Her cheeks are stained red and there are smile lines around her eyes which Ty is sure to find endearing. But it’s so obvious to Kit that she’s a fraud. Ty should be able to see this. Ty is a detective. He sees everything.

Ty nods. “Let’s split up.”

“Sure,” Kit shrugs.

The three of them go their separate ways, roaming around the roof, but of course Katie finds a way to end up with Ty again, under the guise of consulting something on her map. Absent-mindedly, Kit lifts up tiles. Half his mind is occupied with keeping an eye on the two of them. Katie says something to Ty, sweeping her dark hair behind one ear, and Ty laughs.

Admittedly, she’s pretty. Ty isn’t averting his eyes anymore, he’s looking at her and smiling.

Suddenly Kit wants to find the ornament very much.

There’s a structure on the roof, a slender spire, that reaches the highest point. Kit doesn’t think much of it at first because the climb to reach the top is too dangerous and it doesn't make sense for anyone to hide an ornament there, but then he remembers it’s Isabelle Lightwood’s party, and above all, he needs the distraction.

It’s difficult to find footholds on the spire because it’s surface is entirely smooth, but Kit is determined to make it to the top. Adrenaline floods into his body, pulling his thoughts away from the mingling laughter below him. His muscles are pulled taut beneath his shirt. Kit gives himself one final hoist and he can see, vaguely, the shadow of something taped right on the tip of the spire, its sharpest point.

Satisfaction fills him like a heady drug, sending his heart bounding. Laughter bubbles in his throat as he rips the object off the tip. He imagines the shiny-eyed, rosy-cheeked look of pleasure on Ty’s face when he presents it to him. 

Somehow it reinforces their unit. They’re a two-man team. There’s no room for any others here, especially not any Katies.

“Found it,” he calls.

Ty and Katie’s heads snap up to look at him.

“What are you doing, Kit,” Ty says flatly. There’s the rapid sound of footsteps as Ty rushes to the base of the spire with Katie on his heels.

Kit lets a grin explode across his lips. “I found it! It was on the spire. ‘Up’! The highest point on the roof. Looks like it’s two, fat angel babies hugging each other!” Kit holds up the ornament like a trophy, victorious. 

“Come down now, Kit,” Ty’s voice floats up, the urgency in it just audible.

His face is blank with shock. The corners of his mouth turn down in dismay. It’s not quite the expression that Kit imagined.

Still on a high, Kit leaps down from the spire, and on an impulse, does a backflip on the way down. He lands soundly. Or, at least he plans to. He lands heavier than he thought he would, so he stumbles a bit, but the slight misstep is enough to send Ty’s hand darting out to fist in his shirt and pull Kit close to him. 

A soft ‘oof’ sound escapes him. He blinks several times. Kit is close enough to feel the heat radiating off Ty. Ty’s scent fills his nose, turns his stomach over. He smells of lemon, like his soap. He smelled like it last night. Memories of legs folded together arise in his mind. His knee pressed against the back of Ty’s, the slow rise and fall of Ty’s chest, fingers curled over a slender waist. Kit has to stop himself from putting his nose in the crook of Ty’s neck and breathing it in again.

“That was dangerous,” Ty says. 

He has a habit of saying everything matter-of-factly so it sounds as though he’s just making a note of it, just a casual observation, but the fist wrenched in the front of Kit’s shirt is white-knuckled. The expression on his face betrays nothing.

Kit’s high bottoms out like an ocean. “I—I’m fine, Ty,” he hazards. “Look, I found it.”

His hand comes up to touch Ty’s whipcord wrist in what Kit hopes is reassuring. A delicate pulse jumps quickly beneath his fingers. Slowly, Ty releases his grip on Kit’s shirt and takes the ornament of the two cherubs from him. He looks at it for a while.

“Good work,” Ty says, clearing his throat. He pockets the ornament and turns away. “So where should we head next?”

“The map says somewhere in the shopping district,” Katie says, startling Kit. He forgot that she’s here. 

“Shouldn’t you check up on Marla to make sure she’s fine?” Kit says, not very kindly. 

“Kit.” Ty shoots him a disapproving look. “Three heads are better than two. Now, the map says something about the shopping district…”

And Katie and Ty disappear behind their maps in shared conversation, rattling off the various clues and destinations that Kit can’t keep track of because he’s watching Katie ever so subtly purse her lips and bat her long eyelashes. 

He shouldn’t be so selfish. Ty likes Katie, and she’s a pretty girl. Kit should support him. How many times has he done it to Ty? He shouldn’t be holding Ty back because of Kit’s own stupid feelings that Ty doesn’t even want. This is what he tells himself for reassurance, though he finds himself withdrawing, turning his back to the both of them as he stares down the roof.

Kit’s hand still buzzes from the contact. He shoves it viciously into his pocket.

**

The scavenger hunt proves to be surprisingly productive. It’s right up Ty’s alley. Ty enjoys going off on searches based on the cryptic clues given to them, and Kit enjoys watching Ty enjoy going off on searches based on those cryptic clues, so it all works out for them. Ty always brings them to the right place to find the ornaments. Sometimes it will be at the back of an Institute, or in between shops. 

They find a quiet alleyway tucked in between the busier streets. It’s tiny, only a finger of space to walk around in. The shops are so cramped together they look like they’re huddled against each other, bracing against some kind of cold.

Curiosity radiates off Ty in waves. He roves around, not unlike a sniffer dog, with a wide-eyed wonder and keen awareness to discover and learn more about everything he sees. He walks around shops, small fingers prodding curiosities, trying to figure out their mechanisms. It’s all Kit can do to trail behind and watch him.

The only problem with it is Katie. Katie, who is always lingering in Kit’s peripheral. Katie, who’s always standing next to or near Ty, speaking to him in a saccharine sweet voice. She’s a heavy weight settled over his chest. Kit hangs at the back of their trio like a sulking child, busying himself with kicking around a pile of rocks on the ground while they confer about something on the map.

“In here, Kit,” Ty calls, and ducks in after Katie into an antique shop with a ratty signboard slung up, reading Marty’s. If Ty notices anything different with Kit, he doesn’t show it.

Kit follows, grumbling beneath his breath about why there’s any point to this scavenger hunt anyway, pushing past strange batwing doors to find himself in a small shop, shelves lined with oddities. There are trinkets and cheap jewelry laid out across tables, green stones that purport to be able to offer good luck. There are crystal balls, a thing Kit thought was a mundane mysticism, but apparently they sell it here in Idris too.

Kit realizes it's a shop selling mundane items. Not so much for the function, but for the exoticism that comes along with it. 

Ty moves around quickly, scanning the objects with a gleam of fascination in his eyes. They’re all things Kit’s seen before, but Ty approaches them as if they’re the strangest things he’s ever seen.

“It’s somewhere here, wrapped in blue ribbon, it says.”

For once, Katie is off somewhere in the shop, leaving him and Ty alone.

“Look,” Kit says softly, careful not to attract Katie over.

Ty swivels. “Did you find it?”

There’s no wedding ornament to be found, only a deerhunter hat hanging from a hat stand.

Kit takes it and shakes it off. Dust, visible in the shaft of golden light that pours in through the window, billows in the space around them. Kit grins, his sulkiness disappearing for a brief moment. He holds it out to Ty.

“Detective?”

“I’m too old for that, Kit,” Ty says. He doesn’t take the hat, though he hasn’t moved away. Kit remembers the carefully kept row of Arthur Conan Doyle novels lined up on his shelf.

“Oh, come on,” Kit wheedles. “It’ll be fun, like last time.”

Ty shakes his head. “That was so long ago. We were so weird.”

“What? We had a good rhythm going on. Prepubescent Holmes and Watson. Just for one second. Please? For me.” 

Ty sighs. “Fine,” he says, and pulls the cap on over his head.

He does look the part of Sherlock Holmes: dark and intelligent, though there’s a shy, crooked smile hanging on his mouth that’s incongruous of the real Sherlock Holmes but is an immediate marker of Ty. Ty’s eyes come alight, grey turning into the shine of polished silver. Kit likes seeing him like this, sharp and inventive and glinting with mischief. The wave of fondness that strikes him is so forceful he finds himself short of breath for one startling moment. Then he remembers Katie and he tamps it down hard.

“How’s it?” Ty asks.

Kit inclines his head appraisingly. “You're going to give RDJ a run for his money.”

Ty laughs. 

“All right, that’s enough,” he says, and returns the cap to the hat stand. “I can’t imagine what I used to be like last time. Probably insufferable.”

“Nah, you were a cute kid,” Kit says. “Anyway, you haven’t even said the line.”

Ty rolls his eyes. “One second is over, Kit.”

Kit sighs and follows Ty as he walks over to Katie, his mood souring again, though he makes a mental note of the location of this shop.

**

The rest of the day is spent the same way. That is to say, watching quietly as Katie keeps up her girlish, coy charade with Ty, batting her eyelashes at him and laughing at everything he says. If his Ty reading skills are anything to go by, he’s enjoying it. He likes her, for sure. Ty doesn’t even notice him anymore. It’s always Katie whom he turns to, Katie who he laughs with, Katie, Katie, Katie. At this point, Kit is a hunk of wood standing at the peripheral of their rosy bubble.

They’re at their final stop, a place nestled in between shops and restaurants and cafes, standing at a fountain at the core of all the activity. The evening sky has made its appearance. Shades of red are spilled across the sky like the splatter of yolk. Ty has gone to the toilet, so it’s just him and Katie standing around awkwardly, waiting for him to be done. Katie sits on the bench surrounding the circumference of the fountain while Kit paces around restlessly a distance away, letting out bitter sighs.

Katie cocks her head at Kit. “You alright?”

“Just fine,” Kit replies bluntly.

She seems to consider him.

“Are you and Ty… brothers? Best friends?”

This, Kit has to laugh at. “Geez, no, we’re not brothers. Do we look alike?”

Katie shakes her head and grins back at him, as if they’re sharing a private joke. No, Kit won’t allow this. “Not at all. He looks like he can be found in a newspaper clipping from the 1800s and you look like you can be found in a Surfer’s Paradise brochure, but some brothers are like that, you know.”

Kit nods slowly. “Right.”

“Best friends, then?”

He makes a noise. “Maybe. I’d go with ‘friend’ now, though.”

“How long have you known each other?” Katie asks. She really is interrogating him, Kit thinks.

“Three years,” Kit says. 

It’s strange to say it aloud. For three years, they’ve known each other. Three years that Kit has spent trying, and is still trying, to forget about Ty.

“I guess you can tell me how I can get through to him,” Katie says, wide eyes staring at him in earnest. It’s difficult to hate her when she’s like this. Kit feels the wall of hatred he built up against her begin to fray. “He’s nice, you know, has this air of mystery about him that I really like, but he’s so quiet. He nods and all, but I don’t know how to make him open up.”

Kit wonders if his three years of knowing Ty has warranted him enough to say that he knows Ty. Three years. It isn’t exactly nothing.

I don’t know, he wants to say, just to be a bitter brat, but that’s not the answer that jumps into his head. He does know some things about Ty. Small things, knowledge he has accumulated over the course of the years, picked up like seashells along the shore. He knows that Ty doesn’t like making eye contact. He knows that when Ty gets anxious, he clenches and unclenches his fist. He keeps the stimming toys Julian makes him carefully. He knows Ty when he sleeps, the iciness of his toes at night, the shallowness of his breaths. He knows his gloom and his joys, the pearl of his teeth when his mouth cracks open in one of his rare smiles. He’s also seen the death in his eyes, the haggardness written into his sharp planes of his face reflected in the glossy, unmoved surface of Lake Lyn, the night he tried to raise his sister from the dead.

“He – ” Kit starts, swallowing thickly. Katie gazes up at him, doe-eyed and beautiful. He can’t bring himself to do it. “He’s just like that. Ty’s always been quiet. He prefers to listen rather than talk. You don’t have to do anything. Just… be yourself. Watch out for the little things to know what he’s feeling.”

“Like what?” asks Katie.

Kit takes a deep breath. “His small smiles,” he offers weakly. “The set of his shoulders. You won’t know at first, but you will come to know once you spend time with him. Also he hates messiness. He’s an extremely meticulous person, so try not to get on his nerves. He loves his siblings. More than anything in this world.”

Katie nods and nods, taking it all in. Then she shoots Kit a smile. 

“Thanks, Kit.”

His heart pounds against his chest, hobbling along in a lopsided rhythm. Kit runs a hand through his hair, casting his gaze around the square, desperate to take his mind off this. Anything. Then it snags: Charles Starkweather, standing languidly in the queue of a smoothie shop.

“No problem,” Kit says, not looking at her. “Listen, I’m gonna go off for a while. It’s the last item, I’m sure y’all can find it without me. Tell Ty that I’ve got something to do.”

“You mean, someone?” 

Kit whirls to face a grinning Katie, who follows his line of sight. 

She lets out laughter that sounds like a flag in the wind. “I’m just kidding. Go get him, tiger.”

Kit gives her one last wave before approaching Charles, the strange feeling still threaded through him. He slides a hand around Charles’s waist unthinkingly. Charles jumps, then relaxes when he sees who it is.

“So it's the guy from the wedding,” Charles says, quirking an elegant eyebrow. The hint of a smile creeps along his mouth. “What do you want? Just so you know, I’ve no ice sculptures for you to defame.”

Kit shrugs and leans in until his breath warms the shell of Charles’s ear. “Nothing much, but I can offer you much more than what you’ll get out of queuing in this line.”

The tips of Charles’s smile are sharp. “Sounds like a plan.”

Kit drags Charles to a secluded alley and pushes him against the dirty cinderblock. He kisses him hard and slow until he's pressed absolutely flat against the wall, taking all he can get out of Charles, wringing him dry like a towel. 

Charles makes a noise against Kit’s mouth. “Someone’s in a foul mood today.”

“You don’t get to complain,” Kit murmurs, trailing a line of kisses down his throat. His fingers work to undo his belt and throw his pants open.

“And I’m not.”

Charles throws his head back against the wall as Kit’s mouth follows the line of hair leading down his navel.

There’s not a single thought about Ty. Not at all.

**

It’s nighttime when he returns to the house where the Blackthorns reside in. There’s a sliver of darkness underneath the door, indicating that Ty’s gone to sleep early. Kit stumbles toward it, gingerly turning the knob so as to not wake Ty, and pushes the door open. 

Ty is a vague shape beneath blankets, resting on one half of their double bed. Kit slides into the empty, untouched half of it, letting out a long-drawn sigh as his bones relax into the mattress. He doesn’t slot himself against Ty or breathe into his neck, not like last night. This time, they stay apart from each other. A comfortable distance rests in between them. 

His eyes are about to slide shut when Ty’s voice filters quietly in. 

“Did you have fun?”

Kit’s mind is shaken to attention, though it’s not enough for him to keep his eyes open.

“What do you mean?” Kit murmurs, sleep softening the edges of his words.

“With Charles. I’m sure you two had a fun time.”

Now Kit’s eyes snap open.

“What?”

A sigh. “You just left me and Katie by ourselves. You didn’t even tell me.”

“But I did. I did tell Katie to tell you.”

“Yes,” Ty says exasperatedly. “But it wasn’t you who told me. You flaked on us to romp around with – with Charles.”

Kit sits up. His back is ramrod straight.

“Ty, what are you saying? Are you mad with me?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, yes. I am mad. I can’t believe you would do that Kit. We’re a team. We’re supposed to work together, but you abandoned me to fool around with someone else. You chose him over me.”

“What the hell? What did Katie say? I’m going to kill her – ”

“No. This isn’t about Katie. I saw you two with my own eyes.”

“Ty. Ty, I didn’t think of it like that when I – I left. Oh, come on, Ty.”

Panic starts to fill Kit. He scrambles to flick on the light. Ty’s shape is unmoving, turned stubbornly away from him. Kit tries to pull to blanket off him but he tugs back.

“Could you sit up? Let’s talk.”

“We are talking,” Ty states.

Kit drags a hand down his face. His heart batters against his chest.

“It’s only a scavenger hunt, Ty. I don’t understand why you’re so mad about me for this.”

“It’s irresponsible.” Kit can hear the faintest hint of anger behind his carefully modulated words, barely audible from beneath the fold of blankets. “You chose him over me. Our friendship.”

“Geez, Ty, I’m not choosing anyone over anyone,” Kit exclaims. “It’s a pretty simple action. I just thought since we were finishing the hunt I could go off. I was practically useless anyway. You and Katie just did everything by yourselves.”

Finally Ty sits up, blankets falling to his waist. Two grey eyes are fixed on Kit, shining with anger.

Kit’s breath catches in his throat. Plainly written anger on Ty’s face is unfamiliar territory for him. 

“Is this about Katie now?” Ty snaps. “You’ve had a problem with her ever since you met her.”

“What?” Kit protests, a bit guiltily. “I have absolutely no problem with her. Why do you care anyway?”

“Really, Kit,” Ty huffs. “You’ll do anything, won’t you?”

“What do you mean?” 

Ty sighs. Two spots of anger burn on his cheekbones. The set of his shoulders is rigid. His fist clenches and unclenches, and his gaze is trained steadfastly, intensely, on the bedpost. They shine with a sort of intensity Kit’s never seen before.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know. You’re embarrassed by me. You’ve been trying to get out of our friendship. You’re distancing yourself from me. You dislike things associated with me. Don’t lie about Katie.”

Kit’s mouth falls open in horror. “No, Ty. Absolutely not. That’s absolutely not how things are. How could you think any of those things?”

“It’s not exactly difficult to piece it together,” Ty says bitterly. “You’re going off to parties, coming home late, getting drunk. Every day you bring a new person home. You don’t talk to me much anymore, but I—I respect if you don’t want to be my friend. I just wish you’d stop tiptoeing around me when it comes to these things and give me consolatory smiles or hugs. I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re reading the situation entirely wrong, Ty. So wrong.”

Kit’s heart feels as though it’s been torn out of his chest.

“Oh?” Ty narrows his eyes, offended. “I just wish you’d grow up, Kit. You’re fooling around everyday. I wish you’d have some self-respect.”

“Self-respect?” Kit echoes. A wave of hurt hits him right in the chest. He scowls. “What right do you have to judge me for that?”

Ty laughs, but it’s barbed. “You’re right. I have no right. I’m just the stupid little boy with the headphones, aren’t I?”

Ty swings himself out of bed, stalking over to the door and throwing it open. “I’m going to stay over in Dru’s tonight. Don’t follow me.”

“Wasn’t planning to,” Kit bites back.

The door slams shut. The window rattles on its hinges. He’s alone.

It takes some time for him to process everything. The painful words exchanged, how this is his first real fight with Ty. The bone-chilling look on Ty’s face. Kit’s head begins to throb. He lies, unblinking and completely still, on the double bed until the sky turns light, which is when his body can’t take it anymore and shuts down on itself. 

He falls into a dreamless sleep.

**

Next morning, Emma peers at him warily.

“Dude,” she says. “You look like shit.”

Kit shakes his head and forces out a laugh. “Last night was insane.”

She’s unconvinced. “I guess Ty went to that totally insane party too.”

Ty slouches against the wall with folded arms, headphones jammed over his ears. His head droops down to his chest and his eyes are closed. There are bruises beneath them, and Kit is willing to bet he sports identical ones too.

Emma brings him aside and gives him a look.

He sighs. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She gives him a rueful smile and cups his cheek with her hand. Adulthood has changed her, he thinks, no matter how many sex jokes or protection jokes she might make. She’s no longer bears the same recklessness and pride that comes from being the best Shadowhunter of her generation. There’s a new steadiness to her, a rock-like solidity, which Kit leans into now.

“I’m not saying you have to. I’m saying I’m here for you if you need me.”

Kit nods and she drops her hand. 

“Trust me,” she tells him as they make their way back to the kitchen. “I know all about the emotionally repressed sort. I’m practically an expert. I can tell you that telling someone your feelings really helps.”

At the wedding, Isabelle Lightwood is walked down the aisle by a woman who’s nearly her exact replica while the lilting rhythm of a Sonata plays in the background. The Lightwood women glide down the red carpeting, with serene smiles spread across their faces, looking as unfazed and untouchable as ever. There are lilies and roses threaded through her hair. She leaves a golden trail of gossamer in her wake that shines like a river.

Ty is sharp in his suit. The lines of black and white make his profile striking, bringing out the natural contrast of his features. Kit only looks at him out of the corner of his eye as a rule and turns his head away whenever Ty says anything. Ty does the same. He reverts to his headphones for most of the ceremony, head tilted slightly as he listens to whatever melody that’s filtering into his ears.

There’s a strange pocket of silence at their table between Ty and Kit, like a fracture in the white table clothed circle. Emma, Julian, Dru, and Tavvy shoot them looks which Kit thinks are intended to be subtle but are really not. The look in Dru’s eyes is knowing. He slumps down further in his seat. His chest feels hollow, like a pitted peach.

Vows are said. The groom sweeps the bride in for a kiss. There is applause, and champagne is popped. Everyone looks radiant, ecstatic, joyous, emitting their own kind of glow, but the atmosphere doesn’t seem to touch Kit and Ty, who seem to hang above it in stiff silence.

He’s never fought with Ty before, not like this. He’s unsure how to proceed from here. Kit settles for cold indifference. He pretends that Ty is invisible. He speaks when spoken to and laughs when he’s meant to, all the while aware of the utter silence in the space where he is usually turned to in conspiracy.

There are creases in his suit, Kit notes idly. Lines imprinted into the fabric of his suit where he folded his arms and leaned against the wall this morning. He shouldn’t have done that.

Kit snaps his eyes back to the podium. 

At the very end of the affair, people begin to get up with partners to the dance floor. Emma and Julian go, and Dru and Tavvy disappear somewhere. Kit swirls the sparkling wine around his mouth a bit sourly, slumped in his seat. It leaves a bitter aftertaste on his tongue.

Katie approaches their table. A sparkling necklace gleams at her throat. Her skin is smooth and bronze, and dark hair falls all over her shoulders. She smiles at Ty.

Now its just Kit left at the table. He grimaces at the wine. 

A slender hand curves around his shoulders.

“How are you?”

“Been better.”

Kit gets up from his seat and follows Charles as he tugs him to the dance floor. They sway along to the music. Kit rests his face on Charles’s shoulder. He can feel a hand creeping down his back.

“Are you free tonight?” Charles murmurs. Hot breath gusts across his cheek. It all feels utterly wrong.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Kit forces out.

The hand freezes. “What’s wrong?”

Kit lets out a sigh. “Something’s come up.”

Charles narrows his eyes. “Have you found someone else?”

Kit stops dancing. He takes a step back from Charles, who watches him in puzzlement. His arms fall loosely beside him, unsure of where to go. 

“I… I’ll call you,” Kit stutters. He pulls on a lock of his hair. “But I can’t do this. Not now.”

“What? Kit!”

Kit makes a beeline for the door. It swings past him. The night air rushes into his face. It gives him a welcome greeting, cooling the dampness at his neck and cutting sharply into his skin. He stumbles forth in the dusk, exhaustion seeping into his bones. 

**

He spends the night alone again.

**

The next morning, he runs into Emma and Julian making pancakes in the kitchen. The three-day absolute most horrible wedding is over. Not that it’s the fault of the organisers, though. Kit can appreciate a good ice sculpture when he sees one. It’s time to head back to the Institute.

“All packed and ready to leave?” Emma asks. 

Her grin is wicked. He’s always known it that way. It’s been the same since he met her, knife-sharp and hardy. In this aspect, she has not changed. Kit smiles back weakly.

“Just one more stop,” he says, half out the door.

**

By the afternoon, he’s through a fizzling purple portal, courtesy of one of Magnus’s warlock friends, and his feet hit the carpeted floor of the Institute, one that he’s treaded on so many times he’s probably burned a path into it. His surroundings ring with familiarity. The thick, oak walls, the corridors that echo with age, the mustiness of it all, but a grave sense of strangeness fills him. He’s still trying to get used to the empty spot beside him like a lost limb, the shift in his center of gravity. The axis on which he spins on sent sprawling to nowhere.

Kit sees Ty go up the stairs without looking back, and after a while, there’s the click of his bedroom door as it closes. Another glance is stolen between Emma and Julian, but they say nothing. 

Kit retreats to his own bedroom and takes a shower. The shocking coldness of the water wakes him up a bit. He puts on a clean shirt and jeans, and heads out of the Institute.

There’s a row of houses along the beach just a ten-minute walk away from the Institute. Taking the steps by twos, Kit bounds up the steps to the front porch of one of the houses and knocks. He steps back for a moment, waiting.

The door opens. Sheryl glances at him, frozen for a second, surprise evident in her eyes. Then she shakes her head, sighs, and opens the door wider for him to enter. They go up to her room. Kit sits on the foot of her bed, hands twisted together in front of him.

“Say what you want to say,” Sheryl says, kicking off her shoes and climbing into her bed beside Kit.

Kit squeezes his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry. I was such an asshole. I – I didn’t put enough into the relationship. I’m just so fucking – ”

A silence lapses. 

“Wow. I wasn’t expecting this,” she notes. “That’s… surprisingly considerate of you. Did you find the path of enlightenment while on the wedding getaway or something?”

Kit laughs dryly. “I guess it all just bit me in the ass.”

Sheryl sits up. “Are you alright?” she asks slowly.

“Yes,” Kit means to say, but it comes off as more of a question. “Of course. Why would you ask that?”

“Kit, I’ve known you long enough. Besides, have you forgotten what a good read of character I am? I can read you like a book. You like to pretend you’re so strong and nothing can get to you, but it does.” Sheryl places a hand on his back lightly. “Tell me.”

Kit sighs. He digs his palm into his eye. 

“It’s Ty.”

Sheryl lets out a burst of laughter. “I should’ve known.”

Kit tells her everything that happened on the trip. “He hates me. And he thinks I hate him and I’m trying to get out of the friendship. But I’m not. I’ve never done anything like that, and he told me to get some self-respect and I got mad at him – ”

“Woah, woah, hold up,” Sheryl interrupts. “I didn’t know you two are best friends.”

The simple statement is enough to jar him from his rambling. It’s the first time someone says that to him. It’s always been a known fact to everyone around him. 

“We were,” he says. 

Sheryl makes a noise of realization. “Now it makes sense. Kit, before you met me, were you doing the same thing? Going off to parties and coming home late.”

Kit blinks. “Yes.”

“Well, you don’t talk to him much, of course he’s going to feel like your friendship is crumbling. As if you’re going out of your way to avoid him.”

Kit stares at Sheryl. “But – that’s not what I was thinking when I was doing that,” Kit stutters.

“It doesn't matter what you think.” Sheryl shakes her head again. She seems to be doing that a lot with him. “Honestly, Kit, if you like him so much why don’t you get together with him instead of fooling around?” 

“He doesn’t like me that way.” 

It’s painful to say aloud. It’s a writhing animal crawling out of his throat. 

Her voice is gentle. “How do you know?”

Kit swallows, trying to keep the hurt from his voice. “I told him how I felt once, and he ignored me. He just -- pretended like nothing happened.”

“How did you tell him?”

“It’s so stupid. We were at the lake.” The scene is vivid behind his eyelids. The shard of memory is in his hand. 

“What? Why the lake?”

“Well, it was Livvy’s funeral -- Livvy’s his sister -- ”

Realisation dawns on him as he says it.

“Kit,” Sheryl says. “Of course. Of course that would be his reaction. He was grieving. The shock of his loss probably closed him off to everything.”

“Oh, fuck,” Kit says.

“It’s not that he doesn’t like you. It’s not that you nearly ruined the friendship.”

“Oh, fuck,” Kit repeats. He buries his face in his hands.

“Kit,” Sheryl says, sympathetically.

The flat hand of realization strikes him hard. Everything seems to fall into place in his mind in one fell swoop, like jigsaw puzzle pieces. Only now does he truly understand how far his mistake, that one misunderstanding, extends to. 

It might be the reason why Kit hides in the heart of the crowd of gyrating bodies, sweat-slick and tipsy, his body moving to the bass pounding in the backdrop, because it’s a place Ty can’t follow him to.

It might be the reason why Kit starts searching the crowd for faces, ready with a well-practised smile, trying to find someone to forget about Ty.

It might be why Kit starts returning home late at night, so he doesn’t see Ty as he stands in the dark alcove with a book opened in his hands, the bones of his face sharp and aristocratic, and have to feel the dull throb of pain on his chest.

“Oh, fuck,” Kit says, for the third and final time.

“Kit,” Sheryl says seriously. “Go tell him now.”

His heart batters against his chest.

“No,” He says, with finality. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I… I ruined our friendship,” Kit croaks out. “What if he says no?”

She looks at him with fond exasperation. “Do you remember how you asked me out? We were at a party and you shouted into my ear you thought I was hot. How can you be afraid of asking this?”

Kit swallows. The answer is simple: because there’s no other opinion in the world that matters more than Ty’s.

“You’re a real piece of work, Christopher,” Sheryl says.

Kit stares dumbly into his hands as he tries to process all this. He stands up suddenly. 

“Thank you. Thank you,” he says. He gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I know this was supposed to be me apologizing to you – ”

Sheryl waves a hand dismissively. 

“Don’t worry about it. There are more chances for you to buy me a gratitude lunch,” she says. “Do you know what to do now?”

An idea comes together in his mind. Kit gives her a hesitant nod. 

“I think so.”

**

Meet me. Same place, same time.

**

At six in the morning, the beach is dark. Kit can hardly see in front of him, but he’s familiar enough with the path that he can traverse it just by touch. He knows the grooves and texture of the soil and sand, the squall of the gulls before daybreak.

He sits at the line right where the water meets the sand and hugs his knees to him. He casts his gaze across the dark waters, waiting.

Some time passes before he realizes that a figure appears behind him. Shadowhunters are stealthy like that, he supposes.

“Hey.”

“I got your note,” Ty says.

Kit turns around. “How long have you been standing there?”

Ty shrugs. “Not long.”

He says it: “We need to talk.”

Ty’s eyes are just visible in the dim light. Slate grey. On stormier days, they match the sky.

“I know,” Ty says. He comes closer. “But – not now. Just in a minute.”

Kit watches Ty as he shucks off his shoes, peels off his socks, and rolls up the cuffs of his jeans to his knees. He pads soundlessly to the line where the sand meets the sea. The water rushes in, dampening his toes and turning the sand beneath his feet to dark slush. 

After a while, Kit does the same and follows him to the shoreline.

“When’s the last time we came down here?” 

The water splashes a little as Kit makes his way to stand beside Ty. 

“I don’t know,” Kit replies. “It’s been a while.”

“It might be six months, if I’m not wrong. Add or subtract a week or two.” 

Ty’s eyes are closed. They form soft crescents. 

As he opens his mouth to speak, Kit searches for the right words, ones that he didn’t have in the first place.

He clears his throat. 

“I have – some things to say to you.”

“As do I,” Ty says. “Shall I go first?

There’s a steely edge of determination in his voice. Kit blinks, slightly surprised. “Sure.”

“I shouldn’t have said those things about you,” he starts. It sounds as though he’s reciting something he’s rehearsed in his mind beforehand, something put through careful consideration, as the usual Ty fashion is. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t think any less of you just because of your partying and dalliances. It was just so angry, it came out of my mouth without any thought. I’m sorry if I hurt you. I really am. It’s alright if you don’t like Katie. It’s alright if you – you don’t want to be friends anymore. Kit, I didn’t mean any of it. I just don’t want to be your enemy.”

Kit nods slowly as he waits for Ty to finish. 

“Ty,” he says, once he’s done. “You’re a brilliant detective, but you’ve got it wrong this time.”

Ty stares at him.

“I never wanted to stop being your friend. I didn’t do all of those things because I don’t like you anymore, or I am embarrassed by you. I like you. Very much.”

Kit is flinch-ready, waiting to see the effect that these words have on Ty and cringing for the rejection, but Ty doesn’t seem to give the words a cursory glance. Kit realizes this then, too. It’s another of his mistakes. Words like this mean nothing to Ty.

“But I don’t understand,” Ty says, frowning. “You were avoiding me. You stopped hanging out with me.”

Kit smiles weakly. “There’s a different reason for that, but it definitely has nothing to do with me not wanting to be your friend or whatever nonsense.”

The divot in between Ty’s brow does not disappear. He bites his lip uncertainly. The sound of the gears and cogs whirling in his mind is almost audible in the quietness of the beach as he attempts to decipher it in the way he has done to all of his problems and clues: with the harsh logic of a mathematician. All of a sudden, Kit feels very tired.

“I don’t understand,” he repeats. “What’s the reason?”

The words catch on Kit’s throat, lodging like a bone.

“I…” His voice cracks. He clears his throat. The thudding of his heart rings in his ears. The sand seems to shift beneath his feet, throwing his center of gravity awry. He breathes. “I like you, Ty,” he says carefully. The words drop out of his mouth and simmer in the atmosphere. They’re there. He pushes on doggedly, words clumsy on his tongue. “I—I love you. I love you like Julian loves you, but more than that. I love you like Sherlock loves Watson. I love you, like I want to kiss you and hug you. I want to make you laugh all the time. I spent all that time trying to find people to get you off my mind, but Ty, they don’t hold a candle to you. I’ve loved you since three years ago. I’m horrible at expressing myself, I don’t know – is this enough? Does it make sense?”

There is silence. 

Ty’s face goes blank with surprise. 

Kit tells himself to give Ty some time to process everything, but for a moment, the frightening thought that his words can’t bear up to mathematical logic that Ty employs to everything and everyone fills him and seizes his chest. The thought that it might not be enough. He might be not enough.

The silence continues, stretching out before them like a throat. The nervous flutter in Kit’s stomach expands.

“Kit,” Ty says.

“Yes?”

“Air. Breather. Braver. Corner. Remember.” Ty takes another cautious step closer. His footstep is soundless on the sand. “Christopher. You’re one of my favourite words. You help me relax. You bring me calm.”

Kit cannot quite breathe.

Ty gets close enough to clutch at the panels of Kit’s jacket. His face is downcast, shadowed. Kit can’t see his expression.

“Whenever you’re not around, I always find myself looking for you. I’m always thinking, where’s Kit? I’m just always looking for you, it’s so strange, I didn’t understand it myself. I look out for your footsteps on the front steps of the Institute. Sometimes I stay up late at night to listen for them.”

“Really?” Kit’s voice is a barely audible whisper. It’s a breath in the wind.

“You make me laugh. Not everyone can. You also make me so angry, sometimes. Not everyone can do that either. You can make me feel the worst.” 

Kit’s hands are shaking. He can feel the inexorable pull towards Ty, as if he has been magnetized to him, an unknown invisible force bearing down on him, drawing the two of them closer. The lines of their body slant in such a way that they almost meet. They’re inches away.

“Over the years as you’ve grown further and further away from me, I’ve always felt like there’s something missing from me, an empty spot. It’s not like Livvy’s. It’s different kind of feeling. It’s a spot just for you. It’s your spot. I feel it like a hole. I’ve missed you.”

It’s getting harder to swallow. “What are you saying, Ty?”

“Nothing at all,” Ty says. He leans in and kisses Kit. 

It’s just the simple pressing of lips, but it sends shivers all the way through Kit. Kit makes a noise in his throat, and Ty breaks away, flushed.

“Was that too much?” 

He starts to move away, embarrassed, but Kit catches his arms. 

“No,” he croaks out, not even bothered with the embarrassing crack in his voice. It’s strange, he always can’t seem to find the right words at the very most pivotal moment. He does something in between gaping at Ty and blinking rapidly and blubbering out something.

“Kit.” Ty looks worried. “I’m -- “

“NO!” Kit shouts. He grabs the collar of Ty’s cardigan and pulls him in. Their lips smash together. It’s embarrassingly awkward at first (their teeth clack against each other’s), but a moment passes, and the rhythm is restored. Kit sucks Ty’s bottom lip and traces the outline of his lips with his tongue, just as he’s always wanted to. Ty makes a soft noise under his lips that Kit feels all the way in his belly.

Kit curls a fist around dark locks. 

They kiss like that, the restless energy that has been pent up and allowed to build for so long buzzing right beneath their skins, making the slightest of touches zing with electricity. Kit feels slender musician fingers grip the back of his neck, brush his curls over his ears, and it tugs a soft sigh out of his mouth. Kit’s knees give way and he goes down, down, down, tumbling into the sand, bringing Ty with him. The warm, sweet line of Ty’s body is pressed against his in perfect alignment and oh -- 

“Ty, wait.”

They break apart. Ty’s lips are wet and pink. His eyes are set ablaze, the rare feverish silver colour stunning Kit momentarily. “What?”

“Let’s go back to the house.”

“Alright,” Ty says, eyes darkening, and Kit can’t wait, he wants to bound back to the house right away, but before that --

“I have a gift for you.”

Ty sits up, dusting sand from his elbows. His hair looks absolutely dishevelled and he cocks his head to the side, exposing the pale strip of skin at his neck. “What is it?”

In an extreme exercise of self-control (the gift, Kit, the gift), Kit reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out the deer hunter hat from Marty’s. 

“For you,” Kit says. “As an apology.”

Ty lets out a laugh. He takes the hat and tugs it on himself. Outgrown Sherlock Holmes, his ass. Ty can’t hide it even if he tries.“I have a premonition, Watson.”

“Dazzle me.” Kit can’t stop smiling. He leans back on his elbows, letting the sea breeze shake his hair out. Ty could ask him to do anything now and he’d do it for him.

“I’ve done the calculations and I’m absolutely sure about it. All the signs point to it.” There’s a glint in his eyes. “I love you. Kit, I love you.”

The words sound new and hesitant on Ty’s tongue, unfamiliar territory, and it sounds as if he’s practising them aloud for the first time, but his eyes are shining. 

He feels giddy. Ty leans in to give him another kiss. It’s warm and soft, and Ty’s mouth moves slowly against his, careful to make sure that he’s getting it right. Kit wants to grab him closer and show him how to really do it.

“Ty,” he says, very seriously. Ty makes a noise of question. “We must go now, and I’m not kidding.”

Warm laughter. “Very well.”

Ty gets up, brushing the sand off his clothes, and holds a hand out to Kit. “Come on.”

Kit pulls himself up. He looks around. The sky has broken out in shades of red and orange, a golden yolk spilled across the horizon. A squabble of seagulls streaks over his head.

He takes off running.

“Hey!” Ty yells from behind.

“Fastest one back wins!” 

He sprints to the place where their shoes have been shucked aside and pulls them on as fast as he can. Ty follows quickly behind, fisting a hand at the back of Kit’s shirt to pull him back in indignant protest.

“That’s unfair, you started first!”

Kit disentangles himself from Ty’s grip. “All’s fair in love and war.”

The two of them take off along the beach, sand shifting underfoot, wind threading through their hair like a lover. The Shadowhunter speed makes them really fast. Sun and sea and sky pass by all in a blur, but behind him, sweet peals of laughter ring out, carried along by the sea breeze, and it’s all Kit can do to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @ christopherslightwood


End file.
